


Wrong Time Coming

by Madalayna



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Dating, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Humor, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Solemnly Swear That I Am Up To No Good, I'm Sorry, I'm probably going to abusing-Fitzsimmons-Hell for this, Murphy's Law, Oh it's bad, Premature Ejaculation, Romantic Fluff, Shameless Smut, Terrible Sex, eventual good sex, it does get better by the end, so embarrassing, the crackiest of the crack, you name it if it's bad it happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 03:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4044520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madalayna/pseuds/Madalayna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when the worst communicators in the world have the worst sex ever? They don't talk about it. Thank god for Skye and Mack knocking some sense into them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. miscommunications and poorly-timed happenstance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [memorizingthedigitsofpi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/memorizingthedigitsofpi/gifts).



> This was a cruel prompt from [memorizingthedigitsofpi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/memorizingthedigitsofpi) so you can all blame her!
> 
> I'll put up chapter two tomorrow if there's any interest at all. Any at all, people. Just...anything.

Jemma tried to peek into the kitchen before she went around the corner but Skye was apparently already looking for her and caught sight of her instantly.

“Mmm-mm-mmph,” she called loudly, her mouth full of bagel as she furiously waved Jemma into the room.

“Bloody Hell,” Jemma mumbled to herself, pushing back her shoulders and holding her chin high. Instead of stopping at the table, she went directly into the kitchen to put the kettle on for tea first.

Skye was bouncing in her seat, fingers twitching in anticipation as she waited while Jemma slowly opened a tea bag and put it into her cup. Having run out of things to do until the kettle boiled, she sighed and went to sit primly at the table.

Skye was still trying to swallow down another bit of her breakfast as she said, “You’re just mean, Jemma. Making me wait. So…” She drew out the last word and then let it hang in the air between them as she rolled her fingers over in a hurry-up gesture. When Jemma just stared blankly, she prompted, “Do tell. Do tell.”

“Skye—” she started, trying to think of an excuse for why she didn’t want to talk about this now.

She realized that she had been perfectly willing to talk about it yesterday but that had been _before_ last night. Skye wasn’t being unreasonable, it was just that Jemma didn’t want to discuss it now—or _ever_. 

Since that incident with the portal to the Kree homeworld a month and a half ago, she and Fitz had only just gotten things back to the point of “dating” about three weeks ago. This mostly consisted of going to restaurants, coming back to the base and kissing in the hall outside her room.

After their first date, standing there unlocking her door, the tension between them had been a force unto itself. It was like an electrical field surrounding them, making the tiny hairs on the back of her arms stand on end. She turned back to him slowly, knowing what was coming and, though her stomach was flip-flopping with anticipation, she still took her time and tried to savor the moment. Though there was an edginess that had her squeezing her hands into fists. It was almost as if the air were pulled taut between them. She was so nervous that, as he stepped in, she bumped back into the doorframe with her shoulder. She was afraid he’d be upset but was completely surprised when he started to laugh and instantly the strained mood was broken.

Then his arms were around her, his lips pressed against hers. He pulled her top lip between his and then switched, sucking her bottom lip in and drawing on it gently. She teased at the soft, tender skin of his lip with the tip of her tongue and he shivered against her. He touched his tongue to hers and, for a moment, she went weak-kneed with a longing she had no idea she even felt. He came away wearing the widest smile she’d ever seen on his face. It was the best, sweetest first-kiss she'd ever had—shy and tentative but also dizzying and full of all the magic and promise she ever dreamed they might have. He left her on her doorstep breathless and yearning for more.

That was the moment she knew. It wasn’t when she told him that maybe there _was_ something to talk about between them. Though she suspected then, she still hadn’t been sure until the moment she felt his lips touch hers and all of a sudden the certainty had hit her with a force like a tidal wave. She tried to resist for so long and then it just clicked—like a key in a lock, the tumbler was thrown. She’d fallen in love. And she couldn’t blame gravity for that.

Each of their subsequent kisses had been more and more heated, and a great deal more desperate—hands searching out hallway-appropriate places for contact and lips and tongues standing in for the actions that other parts of their anatomies longed to play out. Four nights ago, he very timidly slipped his fingers up over the swell of her breast as she clung to him with her fingers woven into his thick curls. He quickly retreated at her surprised gasp, but she realized that things were probably progressing beyond hallway-suitable levels if, indeed, there were such a thing.

Fitz was quite good at kissing. So, needless to say, she was extremely curious to find out if he was good at _other_ things. Skye had caught them in the hallway last week (very embarrassing to all parties concerned) and had been demanding regular, if fairly discreet, updates ever since. Yesterday, Jemma confided to her that she was finally ready to “take the plunge”.

Skye was still staring at her expectantly, a bemused smile playing over her lips that made her dark eyes gleam.

“Well…” Jemma looked toward the ceiling, mouth slightly open as she tried to come up with something. She gulped, unable to bring herself to admit the truth.

“Oh no,” Skye said, her smile deteriorating when Jemma still didn’t come out with anything other than a breathy sigh. “ _Fuck_ , was it bad?”

As soon as Skye let loose the truth, the dam broke: “It was. So bad. Awful. Oh, _God_. How are we going to—” She dropped her head down into her hands.

Skye was patting her on the shoulder. “Hey, shit happens. You just gotta try again. I mean—it wasn’t, like, you know— _freaky_ bad, was it?”

Jemma looked up at that. She wasn’t sure what “freaky bad” meant but it _might_ qualify. “What is ‘freaky bad’, _exactly_?”

Skye looked up thoughtfully as she popped a small bite of bagel into her mouth. “I mean, he didn’t try to stick it in your ass without telling you or something, right?”

Jemma was visibly shocked, eyes wide as she looked toward the door to make sure no one was listening in. “No! Of _course_ not,” she whispered harshly, not even able to meet Skye’s eyes.

Skye shrugged. “Or call you ‘mum’ or ‘alien space princess’ while you were in the throes or anything?”

Jemma just shook her head, trying to stifle an amused smirk.

“Well, probably not _freaky_ bad then. Just—you know, try again. I mean, he isn’t exactly Don Juan or anything. He was probably just nervous.”

“It wasn’t just _him_ though!” Skye’s wide eyes and equally wide grin made Jemma drop her head into her hands again just to cover her scarlet-tinged face.

“No kidding?” Skye said, taking a slurp of her coffee. “Do _tell_.”

* * *

 

Things started off wrong from the beginning. Jemma normally spent a good deal of time grooming before going out with Fitz but an emergency had kept her in the lab until he finally came to get her. (He was understandably a bit jumpy about her whereabouts after the Kree-portal incident.)

She was still clearing up in the lab and hadn’t realized the time. Fitz had made reservations and offered to change them if she wasn’t ready but she didn’t want to postpone their evening until it was too late (she had a _pulse_ , after all) so she decided just to go in her work clothes.

The French restaurant had been rather nicer than her attire and she felt uncomfortable and out-of-place the entire time. Fitz was wearing an actual suit and tie for heaven’s sake and he looked quite handsome. The waiter was surly and very— _French_. She felt like he was judging her through the whole sodding meal. She’d eaten little, her nerves keeping her from enjoying the food at all and though a little wine might have made her feel better in the moment, she didn’t want to spoil their upcoming activities.

When they arrived back at her door, she unlocked it and turned to ask him in. However, now used to the routine, Fitz was already prepared to lean down and kiss her. She put a hand up to stop him so she could speak and he froze, his face immediately lined with worry.

She shook her head at her unintended implication. “No, I just—Well, would you like to, eh—come in for a bit?”

His eyes went wide with surprise and for a moment she thought she’d actually made a mistake. Was it too soon? She wasn’t sure what the correct timeframe was supposed to be for sex with someone you’d known for over a decade.

But he seemed to compose himself and, swallowing hard, managed a high-pitched, “Course.” He cleared his throat, his voice recovering as he coyly added, “I mean, y'know, if you want?”

He followed her in and quickly had her pressed to the inside of the door, kissing her hotly with his fingers tangled in her hair. Which was amazing—until his fingers _actually_ got tangled in her hair.

“Ow, Fitz! Just—let me. Stop _pulling_! Just—OUCH!”

When she finally freed herself there was a very awkward moment of wondering if they should continue. As she stood there, so close to the door, she considered whether she should shoo him out and try again another time or actually attempt to get back into it. (If only she’d known!)

The question was answered when, despite boldly meeting her eyes, he timidly said, “You look really beautiful tonight, Jemma.”

“I didn’t even change,” she muttered, looking away demurely. But she couldn’t help the sudden upwelling of love that bubbled to the surface and she wasn’t even sure who closed the distance this time.

They were in a frenzy as they did a shuffling, conjoined walk to the bed. She was busily attempting to push his suit jacket off his shoulders, as she tried not to break their lips apart. It wasn't working and, pulling back, he leaned forward in an effort to work it off his arms while she leaned in trying to slide it back when they bumped heads awkwardly. It wasn’t too awfully painful but Fitz managed to clip the side of his jaw on the top of her head, just enough to make him clack his teeth together.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, rubbing the spot. He didn’t seem terribly perturbed as he went straightaway for the lapels of her blazer but, in hindsight, it seemed an omen of things to come.

They’d just got into kissing again when it seemed he was urging her back onto the bed, but they both still had shoes on so she leaned away and pointed at their feet.

“I’ll just—” she said as she sat and began unlacing her boots. Fitz did the same, sitting on the side of the bed to unlace his dress shoes and remove them.

When they were both finished, he turned to look at her and she suddenly wasn’t sure if she wanted to keep going or not. He looked like he was asking permission with his eyes and suddenly she really just wished he would take charge. She sighed inwardly and thought that, hopefully, he would get more comfortable, more secure, and feel he could lead in future.

So instead of saying something to him about it, she hoped for that best and scooted back on the bed until she was against the headboard. Fitz—looking slightly odd in a dress shirt, tie and slacks but no shoes or socks—shimmied up to lay on his side facing her, his eyes large and questioning.

She reached out to stroke down his cheek and then let her fingers slide up to where his hair swept back from his forehead in a slight widow’s peak. She slipped her fingers into his curls and tried to recapture how she'd felt earlier.

He moved closer, kissing her sweetly, his lips soft and searching against hers. As it grew more intense, tongues tangling eagerly, she slipped off his tie and started on his shirt buttons. He tried to do the same for hers but his fingers were shaking nervously and she finally did her own, shrugging the shirt down her arms as he immediately went for her cleavage. She might have laughed if she weren’t still struggling with the shirt. As it was, she was stuck with her wrists caught and a very distracted Fitz stuck to her chest.

“Fitz?!” she finally said in frustration, after a bit of a struggle—more loudly and far less tolerantly than she would’ve intended. “I’m, um, stuck.”

He got the message and helped her off with the cuffs of her shirt. She managed to get his off without incident but while she was leaned forward getting his last cuff off, he was already beginning to fight with the clasp of her bra. She tried to take over but evidently it had become vendetta between them. She waited as he wrenched at the elastic. With probably more luck than anything, he finally got the clasp to separate.

After so much enthusiasm while they were hidden, she was surprised when he seemed far more hesitant to touch—cupping lightly and finally giving them a few tentative licks.

“I won’t break,” she said with a chuckle.

He must have taken her literally because he soon began to assail her with an excessive amount of teeth. She didn’t want to discourage him, it was merely unpleasant and not outright painful—until it wasn’t.

“Ouch!” she cried out, fingers reflexively tightening in his hair, causing him to wince. She just managed to hold in an exclamation that she was ‘definitely _not_ a chew toy’.

“Oh God, sorry,” he was clearly mortified and she couldn’t quite bear to tell him that the rest of his treatment toward them was definitely not very pleasurable either. She decided that redirection was a better escape. She could save the critique for another day.

She reached down to unbuckle his belt and he stopped dead, breath held, waiting to see what she would do. She tried stroking him lightly through the fabric, wondering if she should reach inside or perhaps tell him to just take them off. She fingered the waistband of his pants questioningly and he immediately unfroze.

He went straight for her jeans, undoing her zip and starting to shuck them down, but that was when she remembered that she was on the last of her laundry that morning. She’d saved out her last pair of lacy knickers to change into that night and worn her horrid, granny pants instead—the pair she was currently wearing. He had her jeans halfway down her hips when she sat up straight trying to hide them, managing to meet Fitz’s nose with her forehead.

“Ah! _Jesus!_ ” he cried, cupping his nose. In an effort to see if he was okay, she brought her knees up to get up to a sit and felt one connect with something. She didn’t have to wonder long what it was. Fitz seemed to collapse in on himself, clutching just below his open fly. Jemma gasped, bringing her hand over her mouth in horror. He seemed to be in so much pain his lips were fixed in a silent scream. He went down on his side on the bed.

“Oh my! _Fitz!_ Are you alright?” she said, clutching his shoulder. He seemed to be fighting to draw a breath. “Fitz? Say something, please?”

He finally managed a weak, breathy, “I’ll be...okay. I think. Ju–just gimme, maybe, a minute?” He nearly sounded like he believed it.

She nodded, checking his nose as well. Which, thankfully, wasn’t bleeding and appeared to be unbroken. She didn’t know about the rest of him but it seemed fairly unlikely she’d done any permanent damage in that area anyway. At least, not physically, but she couldn’t vouch for any psychological scarring and there was the pain, of course. It now seemed their night was completely ruined.

“Ice pack,” she said, almost to herself. She threw on her top and ran to the lab, returning with an ice pack for his nose. She held it on while he lay on his side, recovering.

He refused to allow her to ice the other affected area and after about four rotations between ice on and ice off his poor nose, he finally brought his hand up to his face protectively when she tried to apply it again.

“I’m fine now, Jemma,” he told her, sounding reasonably like himself.

“I’m _so_ sorry,” she said again, wanting to throw her hands up at how awful the evening had gone. “I can’t believe that _happened_.”

He patted her hand. “I’m fine. In fact,” he sat up, brushing his nose against her cheek and wincing slightly, “I think we could maybe—I dunno—pick up where we left off?” He looked uncertain and she was sure her expression must have bordered on mystified. She actually couldn’t believe he was still keen after _that_ disaster. Because, clearly, she was chaos personified. “I mean, if you want to?” He didn’t sound particularly suggestive and really only a tiny bit hopeful.

“Alright,” she said, feeling it was the least she could do after causing him such grievous injury. “Oh, but just let me, um—a minute.”

She went into the loo and divested herself of her granny pants—the cause of all Hell breaking loose—stuffing them to the bottom of the laundry bin. She decided to just—well, go for it and walked out into her room naked. Fitz, had actually shown initiative and gotten into bed, shedding his trousers and pants into a pile on the floor.

His eyes went wide when he saw her and she was pleased by his awestruck look. She slid between the sheets beside him and he kissed her cheek chastely.

“I’d, ehm, can I—I mean, would it be okay—could I go down on you?” he blurted in an uncertain sort of too-fast warble.

She didn’t know what to say for a moment. She’d never really been a huge fan of that but the eager-puppy look on his face made her say: “Eh, yes—if you like.” Her tone sounded odd and formal to her own ears but she didn’t bother to correct herself. “But, um—no teeth,” she added, grimacing at even feeling the need to say such a thing.

He looked horrified at the suggestion and, face reddening, immediately ducked under the covers. He was soon lapping between her legs. It wasn’t unpleasant but she felt uncomfortable and self-conscious. She hadn’t even showered! After a few minutes she felt fairly certain nothing was going to come of his efforts and she was already thinking of tapping him on the shoulder when he lifted up the blanket to ask, “Is that, er, alright? I can keep on but is it, y'know, okay?”

She felt a bit bad for him suddenly. She really should perhaps learn to be more direct. “You can stop now,” she said. “I’m, well, ready. I mean, for—if you—“

He was already nodding and crawling up her body. She reached over into her night table where she put a new box of condoms she’d gotten just for the occasion.

She pressed one into his hand and felt her stomach clench in anticipation. She heard the crinkle of the foil and then his face was coming close to hers, the smell of her was on his breath. He kissed her and she tried not to grimace at the taste. She actually didn’t know how men dealt with it. She was just glad she was a woman. She wondered idly if it was a pheromone issue. Interesting idea for an experiment, seeing if heterosexual women responded negatively toward female pheromones. She’d have to check the journals and see if it’d been done yet. Her thought was interrupted by the feel of him against the seam of her thigh as he brought his lips to her neck. She reached down, trying to guide him.

But as she took hold, he spluttered, “Jemma, wait. Oh. Just—don’t.” He eased her fingers away.

Then he was pushing awkwardly against her, trying to guide himself. When it seemed he wasn’t going to make it on his own, she tried rolling her hips up and managed to get him in the right spot on an exploratory poke. He slid inside a bit roughly and she gasped at the feeling. He didn’t go fast but it was enough to make her bite her lip as her body tried to catch up. He was groaning into her ear as he finally filled her fully.

As he pulled back out, he gasped and apparently managed to get some of her hair in his mouth, which he finally inelegantly spit back out. She shook her head, trying to get the stray locks back. Sighing at the frustrating struggle and just wanting to get past the awkwardness, she slid her hands down his moist back, cupping his arse as he thrust back in again—then came with a loud groan.

When his shuddering had stopped, he sighed against her neck and if her disappointment could be measured in volume, she thought it might be three Grand Canyon’s worth.

It wasn’t just that she hadn’t shared in the pleasure, it had been the whole experience—she felt so little of the connection that she’d hoped for. It certainly had none of the charisma of their usual relationship. It’d just been _sex_. Really awful, completely terrible _sex_.

After a moment, he finally eased himself off. He went onto his side next to her and when she finally got the courage to look at him, he looked near tears. She immediately went into fix-it mode.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking up so he wouldn’t have to see her eyes. “I–“

She put a hand on his arm and patted lightly. “Don’t worry—it’ll be better, um—next time.” It was the best she could manage. She felt that if she looked at him much longer she might cry herself.

He didn’t seem reassured by this but said, “I could, y'know—ehm, go d—“

“No, that’s alright!” she interrupted, already knowing what he was about to say. “I mean, I’m not—that’s fine. Maybe—er, another time.”

He looked a bit hangdog as he got up to go to the loo and when he came back, he started to pick up his trousers and pants from the floor.

“Are you— _going_?” she asked, as he slid his pants on, her heart sinking as she felt hurt despite everything.

“Ehm, no?” he said, not really sounding sure himself. “I just thought I’d—” He threw his trousers over her desk chair with a flourish but they both knew it was just a cover. “Unless—ehm, you _want_ me to?”

She didn’t know if she could handle it if he left as well. Then, at least, there was some sort of hope that perhaps they might have another go and it _could_ be wonderful. She tried not to scoff internally and consoled herself with the fact that people sometimes had to get used to one another. It wasn’t generally magical the first time with anyone—but it had never been quite like _that_.

In answer to his question, she shook her head. But realized that she also didn’t want to force him to stay. “Unless _you_ want to—” she added tentatively.

His eyes flashed to the door and she felt that sinking feeling go just a bit deeper into her. He looked back at her, his expression going a little softer and he came into bed with her again. She put her head against his shoulder but she was stiff and unable to relax as she tried to bring herself close to him. She still felt a bit like he really didn’t want to be there with her anymore.

Eventually, she fell into a rather fitful sleep, waking occasionally and feeling certain that he would be gone but he was always there beside her—until he wasn’t. She heard the shower running though and saw it was almost six. She thought briefly of getting in with him but, gnawing her lip, decided to let it go. She put on her dressing gown and went into the loo to start getting ready.

He looked surprised to see her when he got out and almost shyly wrapped the towel around himself. She pulled a new toothbrush from the medicine cabinet and held it out to him. “Morning,” he said quietly.

“Morning,” she replied, trying to sound cheerful, but she thought her voice sounded more startled than anything.

“Jemma—” he started, but then he just shook his head, opening the toothbrush she’d given him instead.

She waited until he started to dress before she got in the shower and was just rinsing her hair when he peeked through the door and said, “I’m, ehm—I'm off now. I’ll, eh—see you in the lab?”

“Of course,” she said. “In a bit.”

He nodded and turned to leave but seeming to think better of it he turned back. “I’m sorry—about last night.”

“It was fine!” she cried, falling back on her usual falsely cheerful façade.

But the lie just fell flat, and he looked down, nodding slowly toward the floor before he turned and left.

* * *

 

“I’ve had worse,” Skye said immediately after Jemma had finished.

“Really?” she asked, voice full of skepticism.

“Um, well, close? But, yeah, that _was_ pretty bad,” Skye agreed with a slight grimace.

Jemma was nodding and took one hand from where it was wrapped around her mug of tea to gesture with an open palm. “This is exactly what I’m trying to tell you,” she reiterated.

“So, when’re you giving it another shot?” Skye asked, curious. She winked and Jemma just looked down into her tea. “Come _on_! You can’t leave it like _that_. I’m serious, you guys are gonna be great together once you work out all the kinks!”

“I don’t know, Skye,” she mumbled, taking a sip of her tea.

“Ah! You can’t give up after a bad first time! I mean, you at least have to give him one do-over!” she argued. “I mean—it’s Fitz. You two have been through too much to let this be the thing that does you in. So—it was awkward. Who _cares_?” She stopped to take a breath and Jemma finally looked up from her tea.

“I’m in love with him, Skye. What if this is the best it is? I mean, I’ll just have to deal with it, I suppose,” she said and went back to blowing on her tea.

“Jemma, I have a crazy suggestion—” Skye said, her eyes growing serious as Jemma looked up from her mug again. “Try _talking_ to him! Just, you know, give him the lay of the land. Tell him you hate it when people chew on your boobs and you’re not very into him frenching your hoo-ha. _There!_ Problem solved! As for the other stuff, well, awkward happens—probably more so with you two…” Jemma glared, “Hey, I’m not kidding. You two injuring each other during sex seems about right to me. And as for the _other_ other thing, well, give him a minute—he’ll get tired of your lady bits sooner than you’d like, trust me. You’ll be thinking up ways to get him off faster cause you got shit to do.” Her eyes went wide as she rolled them dramatically. “Believe me, I _know_.”

“That was quite a speech,” Jemma said after taking another sip of tea. “Did you get all that from watching _When Harry Met Sally_ for the fourteenth time? Or was it that last romance novel you read? What was it called again? _Secret Desires at Midnight_ or something?”

“Shut up,” Skye said, throwing a piece of bagel at her.

 

* * *

 

He was pacing again. They were in the “new” garage and Mack was leaning against one of the SUV’s he’d been working on before Fitz got there.

“Sure you don’t wanna talk about it?”

“No!” Fitz yelled at the ceiling. “Yes! How the hell do I know!? I mean, not really but—also, yes!” he seemed near hysteria as he paced and threw his hands about wildly. “Actually, it’s just too embarrassing, really,” Fitz added, now just sounding defeated.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better—as my ex used to say—anything you say goes into the 'vault',” Mack said with a chuckle, wiping his hands on a grease-stained rag.

Fitz nodded and sat down on a rolling stool by Mack’s toolbox and said, “Jemma and I we—finally—" He gaveMack a significant look, “ _you know—_ and it was—UGH—I mucked it up. I was complete rubbish.”

“Come on, man. I’m sure she doesn’t think that. You’re probably worryin’ over nothin’,” he said reassuringly, not understanding that Fitz was well beyond reassurance.

“No. Trust me. She thinks it. There’s no other word for what happened last night.” He ran his hands through the hair at his temples. “God, she’ll never go out with me again. Tha’s it. This is the end. No happy endin' just one round of bloody awful…” He couldn’t quite finish the thought.

Mack was chuckling lightly at Fitz’s outburst. “Listen, there’s only one thing you can do in that situation, man. Try again. Make it better. If she’s the girl for you, she’ll wait it out. You two’ll get there.”

“No, tha’s the thing, we just shouldn’t’ve done it t’ begin with. Yeah. Never again. We’ll just forget about it. We’ve always been friends. We can be again. Clearly we’re not—I don't know— _compatible_.” He threw his hands up in frustration. He was really only half joking. "She's too gorgeous and incredible. I'm just—" He shook his head.

“Whaddya think went wrong?” Mack asked, ignoring his dire pronouncement.

Fitz’s face got very red. “Well…” He started after hemming and hawing for a bit. “It was…” He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Quick?” Mack suggested.

Fitz only nodded, not opening his eyes.

“That doesn’t seem crazy for—you know—I mean, you’ve kinda had it bad for her a good long while, right?” Mack reasoned.

“Yeah, but, like, _really_ quick,” Fitz said, covering his face. “Like, it wasn’t even that quick the _very_ first time. _Jesus_ ,” he moaned. “She’s goin’ to think I’m some sort of premature ejaculator—bloody jessy who can’t go a full round. _Fuck!_ ”

He looked up, suddenly realizing he was still talking to Mack. Fitz really just wanted to hear that he wasn’t mad, that it hadn’t all been his fault or even just that it was the way life went at times and Mack was good at that so he kept going.

“But—that wasn’t even the half of it, really. I mean, she was—I dunno—weird. I mean, _she_ suggested that I ‘come in’,” he air quoted the phrase, “and then she was actin’ like maybe she wasn’t really—into it? I guess? There were loads of times to just—stop, give up, try again later but she carried on. Somehow, it just—I mean, it was like she was—I don’t know—just goin’ through the motions?” Mack was nodding seriously but didn’t say anything even when he paused. “Maybe she doesn’t really want this after all? Maybe I should’ve said somethin’? Or–or just left when it started to go wrong? I didn’t want to hurt her feelin’s though. But _then!_ ” His eyebrows drew downward as he grew a look of pure indignance. “She acted a bit like I was a criminal tryin’ to go after that epic disaster. I mean, I’d’ve stayed if she really wanted me to, of course—and I _did_ —but I would’ve thought she wanted me to go after that train smash and she just looked at me like I was the worst person in the world.” He sagged visibly after his confession.

He left out Jemma’s crazy freak out, bashing him in the nose and her— _apparently_ accidental—knee to his bollocks. He might’ve thought it was intentional if she hadn’t been so apologetic afterward. Since he wasn’t exactly _uninterested_ , once the waves of nausea had passed, he’d suggested another go. His brain tried very hard to ignore the fact that her enthusiasm seemed to have dried up by that stage but he kept thinking he could bring her back around. It hadn’t happened though. _Clearly._ It was all his fault.

“I mucked everythin' up,” he lamented again.

“Well, I’m gonna say the thing that you prob'ly don’t wanna hear, man. You need to _talk_ to her. Not just make assumptions about how she feels or just get up and leave, but really fuckin’ _talk_ to her,” Mack said in a rather impassioned way that made Fitz grow even more embarrassed.

Of course, he knew this was an issue but, up to now, he’d been very good at pretending it wasn’t. Well, _pretending_ wasn’t really the word—Fitz was actually _horrible_ at pretending. He was well aware that he was avoiding these conversations with Jemma but he did it anyway because they were either difficult or potentially destructive to the relationship. But he also knew that, in the end, _not_ having them would likely be equally destructive. But, really, that seemed like six of one, half a dozen of the other to him so why bother with the actual conversation? He forgot to consider the statistical likelihood that it might actually make things better.

“Right, that makes sense,” he said contemplatively to Mack, still having no intention of actually speaking to her. “I’ll try that tonight.”

Actually, he avoided her all day in hopes she might let things settle for a bit—if he were lucky, maybe for a few days.


	2. Just Another Happy Ending...

By ten-thirty that morning, Jemma finally accepted that Fitz might be feeling even more awkward about the previous night than she was since he still hadn't been into the lab yet.

So she texted him.

[10:34 am: To Fitz:] Where are you? I thought we’d see each other in the lab?

[10:37 am: To Jemma:] Helping Mack with something. Do you need me?

[10:37 am: To Fitz:] No, just making sure everything’s alright.

A few minutes later, she sighed heavily at realizing there was still no response from Fitz, so she texted him again.

[10:42 am: To Fitz:] I’ll see you tonight, then?

It was a long time before his text came back and, though it seemed irrational to be concerned—he _was_ working after all—she couldn’t help feeling nervously upset.

[10: 54 am: To Jemma:] Sure.

Somehow this was less than reassuring.

When he wasn’t at dinner—her own fault for not being specific—she finally found him in his room.

She knocked and wasn’t really even expecting him to be there so when he opened the door suddenly, she jumped a little, bringing a hand to her chest.

“Fitz!” she said in her surprise. Lowering her volume, she said, “You weren’t at dinner. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, fine. Is, ehm, is everything okay with you?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yes, I just—I mean—” She suddenly didn’t know what to say. She'd rushed to action in her worry over not seeing him all day without really thinking it through first. “Did you want to come back to my room for a bit,” she finally said, biting her lip nervously.

“Oh,” he said, in a nakedly apparent tone of surprise. “I—well, I should—I, ehm—” he continued, bringing a hand to the run over the close-cropped hair at his neckline and looking back into his room as if he might find some object or idea that might excuse him. She could almost feel how much he wanted to say no coming off him in waves. Finally, he said, “Yes, alright.” He flipped off the light and started to come out.

“You, um, you don’t have to—if you don’t want to,” she finally managed. Not wanting to make him do something he didn’t want to do out of politeness. She felt like she might cry but she held it in tightly, not wanting it to influence his decision.

“Ehm, no, no. Course I want to, Jemma. Maybe we could, ehm, watch something? Doctor Who? Or—I dunno—you choose,” he finished, beginning to sound much more excited about the whole idea than she would've expected.

“Yeah,” she said, smiling. Actually, it sounded really nice and it might make her feel better.

Though it started off a bit stiff, barely touching as they lay side by side on the bed. They soon found themselves gravitating together. Fitz laughed at something on the telly and she put her head on his shoulder. Soon his arm came around her and before she knew it they were cuddled up tightly, his warmth seeping into her bones. His arms felt so safe and good around her she wished he'd never let go. They snuggled on her bed that way, watching one another as much as the telly before they each finally fell asleep still in the other's arms. The next morning was far less awkward than the one before it as they began to create a new routine, one they would soon fall into on a regular basis.

They were oddly like a long-married couple, cleaning their teeth together, politely waiting to spit and Fitz attempting not to knock into her brush as they rinsed them out; taking turns with the loo (until Jemma couldn’t wait any longer and finally just barged in while he showered).

It went on like that for more than two weeks. Fitz soon had his own drawer in Jemma’s room, a bit of space in the closet and even a shelf in the medicine cabinet. They slept in the same bed and the awkwardness completely passed as they agreeably danced around each other like clockwork each night and morning while they got ready. And in the evenings they would lie together and watch television or chat, sometimes they would even kiss but that was as far as it went.

* * *

 

“How’s it going now?” Skye asked her one morning as Jemma sat down at the table with her tea.

“Oh, it’s lovely now,” Jemma told her dreamily, taking a sip.

“Great! See I told you the kinks would work themselves out. No pun intended—although…” She grinned as Jemma gave her a warning look.

“Well, we haven’t actually tried _that_ again,” Jemma said, hiding behind her cup, worrying over what Skye would say.

“Whaddya mean?" Skye asked, clearly shocked. "You just said it was going good?” 

“Well,” Jemma said, smiling uncertainly at what Skye’s reaction might be. “I just meant, our _relationship_. It’s really lovely now.”

Skye’s face went from shocked to annoyed. “You haven’t talked _at_ _all_ , have you? Jeez, Jemma! So, you’re just—What? Going back to being friends? Is that what Fitz wants?”

“Well, we’re not exactly—strictly speaking— _just_ friends anymore,” she said guiltily. “I mean, we—well, he’s been staying in my room," she cleared her throat, "every night. We kiss.” When Skye just looked at her in disbelief, she blurted, “I haven’t really thought through all the ramifications yet but—it’s working—sort of.”

“You do realize that Fitz is a _guy_ , right?” Skye asked after they'd sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment. “He _is_ going to want to visit the boneyard again before too long. You get that, right?”

“Skye, what an image,” Jemma complained, her face scrunching up in disgust. “Where do you hear these things?”

“Internet, obviously,” she scoffed. “Okay, so how about: he’s going to want to make some sweet monkey love?”

“Ugh,” Jemma groaned, holding up a hand to stop an onslaught of sexual euphemisms.

“Fine. He will want to know you again in the biblical sense. Is that clear and bland enough?” Skye asked flatly.

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,” Jemma said, squeezing her eyes closed at the thought.

“Ugh, you and your filthy euphemisms,” Skye said, mocking Jemma’s disgusted look but failing miserably and falling into a fit of giggles instead. Jemma couldn’t help but smirk.

“I really don’t want to go back to just being friends,” Jemma said suddenly, her eyes filming over. “But—I don’t think he wants to try again.”

“Oh, trust me, sweetie,” Skye said emphatically, “he _will_.”

Jemma really didn’t understand then just how right Skye was.

* * *

 

Only a couple of nights later, she discovered the apparent truth of Skye’s words when she and Fitz were in bed kissing rather passionately for a change. In the last two weeks, their kisses had been much less heated since they both knew that it led down a path they still felt was too awkward. Normally, when things began to grow too steamy, one of them would pull back, bring the degree of intensity back down to a more manageable level, but—for some reason—tonight neither of them was doing that.

Jemma had tried once or twice but Fitz seemed not to take the hint. However, she soon found herself responding quite eagerly to the tantalizing feel of his tongue grazing over hers and the supple press of his body. She ran her hands under his loose-fitting pajama top, over the smooth skin of his chest and belly then around and into his waistband to squeeze his rather nice bum.

She moaned into his mouth and his hand found its way under her pajama top. She arched into his touch, molding her naked breast to his palm and he huffed out, “Jemma, is this—can we—maybe we should—”

But suddenly she was afraid—worried that it would all go wrong again—and she didn't think she could bear to feel the disappointment another time. And remembering Skye’s warning, Jemma knew her friend was right. Irrationally thinking that she could at least postpone the inevitable, she slid her hand into his pajama bottoms.

He was hot and pulsing in her hand, he moaned incoherently as she caressed him. He brought his lips back to hers but he had a difficult time keeping up the furious pace he’d set before as his breath stuttered and hitched against her lips. But it slowly became clear—over many minutes—that her attempt was going to fall short without—help. He seemed to be enjoying her attentions but it didn’t quite seem like it was going to get him where she wanted to go. She didn’t need to get Carpal Tunnel Syndrome, after all. She thought that something more direct would likely work better. Continuing to stroke him, she rolled him back and rucked his pajama top up to his armpits, kissing and licking at his chest. Slowly working her way down.

“Fuckin’ _hell_ , Jemma,” he said in surprise when she licked the head of his cock with the flat of her tongue.

“Sorry, I should have warned you,” she said, giving him a coquettish smile from below. He looked mildly apprehensive but hopeful and when she swirled her tongue over him again, he hummed in response.

“That’s o- _God-_ kay,” he groaned out as she took him into her mouth. “Just, ehm—Jemma? That’s lovely but, ehm—maybe we could— _mmn_ —talk a bit— _ah_ —first?”

She slid him out to ask what _exactly_ he wanted to speak about while she was sucking him off but unfortunately she never got the chance. As she looked up at him again, either the last swirl of her tongue or the next squeeze of her hand made him come—

—right into her hair.

“I’m _really_ sorry,” he was saying, vaguely throwing his hands up and then rubbing his forehead like he might be getting a headache. He was pacing outside the loo door while she stood in the shower with a thick lather of shampoo on her head. “Just…sometimes it’s a—it _can_ be—well, a surprise…” he trailed off, clutching the back of his neck anxiously.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said a bit unenthusiastically. It wasn’t because she didn’t mean it though, she was just sick of disasters. It just kept ending up a shambles. Maybe I’m jinxed, she thought to herself dubiously. It was a comforting thought actually because a curse could be removed, in theory. But if the _universe_ had it out for you—well, you were pretty much buggered.

The next morning Fitz dressed quickly and escaped before she could even get out of bed. He kissed her forehead before he left, but she pretended to be asleep.

She didn’t even stop by the kitchen for tea. She had no desire to endure Skye trying to wheedle information out of her that was going to be buried so deep in her subconscious she hoped it would never surface again, at least not if _she_ had any say.

* * *

 

Fitz walked into the garage and sat down on a stool by the main workbench.

“Hey, Turbo,” Mack said as he rolled out from under the SUV he was working on.

“I do _not_ want to talk about it,” Fitz said with utter certainty, holding his hands in the air defensively. “Ever.”

“‘Kay,” Mack said, “Did you talk to _her_ though?”

“I tried?” he said. _At the worst possible moment of my life_ , he didn’t add.

“She wasn’t having it, huh?” Mack asked skeptically.

“Well, I don’t know, really. Things happened that—well, prevented me from findin’ out. And, that also may prevent me from _ever_ askin’ that question again. _Forever._ Full stop.”

“I think I’m fresh outta advice,” Mack said, with a chuckle, sitting up on the creeper.

“Tha’s okay,” Fitz said. “Is it alright if I hide out here today?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Mack replied uncertainly. “But is that really easier than just talkin’ to her?”

“Definitely,” Fitz said with finality. He only hoped when she found him—which wouldn’t likely take long—that she wouldn’t want to break up with him straight off.

However, it apparently took longer than he’d thought for her to find him because by lunchtime he still hadn’t heard from her.

By three o’clock he started to get worried.

“No Jemma, no call, not one _bloody_ text,” he complained to Mack, crossing his arms over his chest and gripping his own shoulders fiercely in his anxiety.

“That’s tough, man,” Mack said, a slightly bemused smile on his face as he went back to work under the hood of the SUV.

Fitz stared off into the distance for a moment and said, “Maybe she really _does_ want to break it off with me?”

Mack craned his head toward Fitz, just missing grazing the top on the raised hood of the car, and gritted his teeth. “Just _talk_ to her,” he finally said looking like he might be in physical pain from needing to say the words again.

Fitz looked equally pained by the idea that he would almost certainly have to do just that and he knew it likely wouldn’t be a pleasant experience.

“Yeah, I’ll get it worked out tonight,” he said sullenly. He felt that was a rather hopeful statement, but he wanted it to be true.

At five-thirty he left, bidding Mack goodnight as he went to try to catch Jemma leaving the lab.

But she wasn’t there. Nor was she in the kitchen.

He finally went to her bunk, knocking softly, terrified of what was to come. He thought he heard a noise inside so he waited, but it was a long time before he heard her footsteps as she came to open up.

When the door finally creaked open a fraction, her face visible in the small gap, he knew she was upset. She was already dressed for bed while her face was pale and drawn.

“Oh,” she said, as if she weren’t expecting it to be him or perhaps hoping that it wouldn’t be. He found this idea deeply painful.

“I, ehm—can I come in?” he asked. It felt strange to ask when he’d practically been living there for weeks.

She just stepped back to allow him to enter.

“Jemma,” he started once she closed the door. “I think we need to—“ but then she was in his arms. He could tell she was crying by the way her shoulders shook even though there was no sound coming from her.

“Jemma, don’t cry,” he murmured soothingly, running a hand over her hair. “We’ll sort it, dear. Please, can we just try and sort it out properly now? Won't you talk t'me?”

He tried to quash his worry that this was all because she was about to chuck him so he could just hold and calm her. They couldn’t give up now, could they? He knew that he’d be devastated if she wanted to break things off but he had to believe that she would at least _try_ to figure things out first. Though he realized he hadn’t exactly been _helping_ in that area. He pushed back his larger-than-average-sized lump of guilt over the subject and hugged her a bit tighter.

“I—“ she started against his neck. She stepped back from him and keeping her eyes low said, “Only I feel like—just nothing is working out how I thought.” She brought her hands up to clutch at the sides of her neck and went to sit on her bed. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Let’s just do like we always do,” he said, suddenly inspired. “We’ll work it out together. Figure out what’s not going well and we'll fix it—whatever we've got to do t'make it right. Tha's all we've ever done. Why would we stop that now?”

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” she said, sounding completely discouraged and unable to meet his eyes.

“Why not?” he asked hopefully, desperately wanting her to look at him.

She did peer up at him then with just a hint of hope in her eyes, too.

“It—it's so difficult to talk about,” she said hesitantly.

“Yeah, there is _that_ ,” he agreed emphatically.

“I don’t want to hurt your feelings.” Her eyes drifted down to the floor again. She sucked in a breath and glanced up, “Not that I think it’s _your_ fault—“ she stopped herself. “I mean, I’ve made mistakes as well. Well, not that it's been all _mistakes—_ ”

“I know,” he said, understanding what she meant. “Some wretched luck as well, really.”

“I think we’re jinxed,” she said sadly, her voice very quiet and even in the silent room he could just hear her.

“Tosh,” he said instantly. “You’re a scientist, Jemma, and you'll _not_ be startin' on _that_ road.” He was insistent. It wouldn’t do to have her blaming their issues on ineffable forces in the universe instead of trying to solve them.

She looked up curiously, surprised at his vehemence.

“Where’s that Fitz when we’re—” she looked away again, “when we’re— _intimate_?”

“You want that?” he was surprised. He’d always followed where she led in their relationship, he assumed she’d want that in all aspects of it.

She seemed to force her eyes to meet his again and she nodded.

“Okay,” he said, filing it away for later. “What else?”

“We should just communicate—during. I mean, without fear of giving offense or, um, causing hurt feelings.”

“So—bury my ego in deep dark hole, in other words?” he said, smirking and hoping she might at least smile.

But she only looked nervous and worried though she tried to bring up the corners of her lips, it lasted only a moment and he knew it wasn’t real. She looked afraid and instead of frightening him as well, it gave him hope. Maybe she did really love him if she was that scared of things falling apart?

“I promise, Jemma, you can tell me anything. I won’t get upset.” He hoped it was true but even if it wasn’t he would make sure he kept it to himself. He knew there were a few things she hadn’t liked him doing the last time and he’d been more ashamed that he’d thought she would than actually hurt that she hadn’t.

“Alright,” she agreed, a trace of a real smile on her lips. “Shall we try now, then?” She stood up to face him.

* * *

 

He looked a bit stunned but she saw a hint of desire spark to life in his eyes even as he said, “Are you _sure_? I mean, we could wait a bit—until—“

“I want to,” she interrupted. She needed to see if they could change their streak. If it was all about communication or ill-timed circumstances or just— _them_.

The heated look in his eyes was rapidly growing as he stepped closer. He put his hands on her waist and said, “Alright, but if I’m makin' an awful mess of it again, promise me you’ll say somethin’? Just say, 'I don’t like that', okay?”

She nodded, rolling onto her toes to peck him on the lips in thanks for his care of her. She didn’t know what to do if this went wrong again. She loved him too much—in every way—to do anything but accept it.

The look in his eyes was dark and lustful—she’d never seen him look at her like that before. His passion was normally mixed with a sort of awestruck reverence, it somehow always made her feel as though she had to help him along. This expression had none of that and when he laid his hand on her shoulder, his thumb stroking over her clavicle, she shivered at nothing more than the sultry look in his eyes.

He pulled her to him, his fingers slipping into her hair as he locked his lips over hers insistently. He pushed his tongue into her mouth, no longer requesting entrance but taking it. A river of fire ran through her body, pooling between her thighs as he seized what he wanted, capturing her tongue and stroking tingles of pleasure over it that left her gasping for breath.

He ran his hands all the way down her back, firmly squeezing her bum and pulling her hips in to fit tightly against his. He broke away to graze his teeth over her bottom lip before he moved on to her jaw, placing fast, light kisses downward toward her throat. Through the fabric of her top, he ran his thumb over her already-hard nipple as he swept his tongue over her neck, teeth continuing to lightly skim the path he followed to her neckline. Almost seeming frustrated with her top impeding his path, he took hold of the hem and lifted it up over her head. With his arms around her back to hold her steady, he quickly bent his head to take one of her nipples in his mouth, circling it with his tongue. There were, thankfully, no teeth this time as he took the sensitive bud between his lips and sucked until she was arching back, winding her fingers into the dense waves of his hair. His hands went to squeeze and caress her bum again, pulling her tight to him. She instinctively rolled her hips against his, making him gasp and herself shudder at the rising want she felt already swirling in her belly.

Her pulse was beginning to race, not just from his touch, but at how unrestrained she felt. It was freeing—not to worry what would happen, not to feel that she had to be in control. Completely unencumbered just to enjoy what was happening in the moment.

He kissed up to the spot just below her ear and with his grip on her waist, he slowly turned her around, pushing down the waistband of her pajama bottoms and letting them slide to the floor. He slipped his hands around her waist to settle flat over her belly as he lightly rubbed against her and she leaned into him, clutching at his clothes, trying to help him but he stilled her hands. Instead, he brought his deft fingers up to brush tingles of pleasure on the tender undersides of her breasts and then up to lightly tug her nipples. Her breath came faster as he urged her forward to the bed. Then his lips were close to her ear as he whispered, “Get on your hands an' knees.”

She felt her stomach twist in anticipation and she had to clench her thighs together against the rising ache. She hesitated—not that she didn’t trust him—but it was just so different from how he’d been with her that her mind was having a difficult time catching up to his newfound assertiveness. But he was giving her what she’d asked for and already it was incredible. She glanced back at him over her shoulder, his expression was neutral, waiting to see if she would accept his request. She got on her knees on the bed and slowly leaned forward onto her hands, feeling incredibly exposed and vulnerable but also brimming with warm feelings for him. She knew that she could trust him completely. There was no one she trusted more.

Immediately he was behind her, stroking her back and pressing his hardness against her through the rough denim of his jeans. His intense arousal made her feel sexier and even more stimulated, like he couldn’t quite control himself in the face of her submission to him. She bit her lip to hold in the breathy sighs that kept trying to escape her.

He ran his hand down over the curve of her backside, very slowly, until he brought his hand between her legs. He moved through, going forward and then dragging back over her moist folds. He explored her with light brushes of his fingertips until he found what he was looking for, circling around it until she couldn't suppress a moan. Too soon, he moved to her opening, circling again, spreading her wetness over the tender skin until she was trembling before finally sliding a long finger inside. She bit her lip to keep back an embarrassing groan at how good just that felt. He added another of his clever fingers and then began to move. She couldn’t stop her hums of satisfaction as he pushed in and pulled out slowly. He began to kiss her back all along her spine, occasionally grazing lightly with his teeth until he reached her shoulder where he bit down, just barely pulling the flesh between his teeth and this finally pulled a moan from her lips.

He withdrew his fingers and she let out a little sigh at the feeling. Then she saw him moving toward the night table, he pulled open the drawer and she silently begged him to hurry as he took a condom out. She forced herself not to look, letting the anticipation wash over her as she heard his belt jingle and listened to the crackle of the foil packet.

For a moment, it was quiet again.

Then, she felt his hands on her back, urging her forward to a better angle and she allowed herself to be moved, spreading her legs wider as he brushed against her entrance, hard and ready. She shivered and then he took hold of her hips, plunging almost roughly into her, pushing her forward with the momentum and making her brace herself more firmly with her arms. The delicious feel of him, combined with his new boldness brought an unexpected cry from her lips.

He didn’t move for a moment, just clutching at her hips but then he slipped one hand around to find her clit as he pulled back. He soon set up a rhythm of strumming over her most sensitive spot as he rocked deeply into her. Fitz’s new demeanor as much as his body had her throbbing nerves quickly blazing into the first fiery licks of delight. Her skin became near-feverish, and soon there was a sheen of sweat covering her as tendrils of pleasure curled like smoke deep in her belly.

Her now careless moans had started their own cadence, rising to a higher pitch each time he filled her. His pace was becoming frantic and he moved his body over hers, bringing his hand up to grip her shoulder to keep the hard bucks of his hips from sending her flopping forward and out of his reach. She could feel his hot, quick breaths on the back of her neck and then his lips on her shoulder blade as he slicked in and out of her.

The racing flitter of blood pulsing through her seemed to sync up with his vigorous movements and she felt the white hot flash of ecstasy as it flowed through her, rippling out from the center of her all the way to the roots of her hair and the tips of her toes, dragging a thick, elemental cry from her throat.

“Ah!  _Fuck_ ,” he cried out hoarsely as he came. Then, possibly losing his footing—or just lacking enough blood to keep his muscles from collapsing—he crashed against her, separating them and bringing them both down on their sides across the bed. She was laughing wildly even as they still bounced on the thin mattress.

“Not—bloody— _funny!_ ” he said, his breath still ragged. He was behind her, his arm loosely draped over her waist and his warm breath still puffing on her shoulder. “I got—a bloody _cramp_!” He shook his leg to emphasize his distress and lack of amusement but she couldn't stop herself. Her mind was busy pumping a mental fist in victory and shouting: Success! She glanced back to see that he was suppressing his own smirk.

“Then our jinx is surely done with,” she said, her laughter still trailing off to chuckles.

“How’s that, then?” he asked, sounding surprised that she would bring it up again.

“You got a cramp, but it still didn’t seem to affect the outcome,” she turned her head around to look at him. “That was amazing, Fitz.”

“Yeah?” he looked gratified but also still slightly insecure. She would _definitely_ have to work on that. “It was good?” His eyes were wide with wonder as her lips curved into a meaningful smile. She took his hand from where it rested on her waist and squeezed it.

Shaking her head vigorously, she said, “No, I told you—it wasn’t good.” His brows squeezed together, not understanding, as she continued, “It really was absolutely—a _ma_ zing.”

He grinned and pulled her closer, placing a few open-mouthed kisses on the back of her neck and shoulders. “S’nothin’,” he said, using the tip of his tongue to draw patterns on her shoulder. “Just somethin’ I’ve been wantin’ t’do for a couple of years or so.”

She smiled again and reached back to thread her fingers into his hair. “I love you.”

He stopped all movement, lips frozen in the act of kissing her neck, until he inhaled sharply and said, “I–I wasn’t expectin’ to hear that just yet—I mean, in _this_ context. I mean—you don’t have to—“

“Fitz,” she interrupted his ramble, “I love you.”

She thought she heard him swallow past a lump in his throat and she turned to face him. “I love you,” she said again, looking him in the eyes this time.

“You know I love you, Jemma,” he said through the thickness in his throat. His eyes were glossy.

“I love you,” she said again, bringing her hand to his cheek.

“Jemma—“

“I love you.”

“Jem—“

“I love you and I always will.”

“I _know_ ,” he said, emphatically and slightly too loudly in the quiet room.

“Good, and don’t you forget it,” she said, kissing him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I know I'm taking a risk here but...go ahead, tell me what you thought. This way I'll know how bad I mucked it up. Gah! (Hopefully, not as bad as Fitzsimmons did!)


End file.
